


shake the dust

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Romance, Some Humor, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(or; five times skye never meets the ward family (and the one time she does… and wishes she hadn’t.)</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>five moments that may or may not be linked together in the same universe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	shake the dust

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THIS JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE and FYI: it’s ALL OVER THE MAP. SORRY NOT SORRY. 
> 
> WELCOME TO MY NEWEST RARE PAIR OF LOVE: 
> 
> \+ christian x raina. (don't knock it til you've tried it.)  
> \+ also there are some SERIOUS SADS in here.

_1_.

 

The man in the suit comes out of nowhere and Skye somehow manages to lose her grip on the vibrant green juice (yet another sign she wasn’t meant to be on a juice fast) in her hand and the portfolio tucked under her arm until it’s all a swirling, scattered mess on the ground.

She tosses her hands up in frustration and shrieks to the universe at large. Then she bestows a special glare on the Suit responsible for making her drop everything in the first place. “ _Great_. Thanks a _lot_. I’m definitely going to miss my interview now.”

"Christian," a soft voice calls from the limo idling at the curb. The owner of said voice emerges and comes to stand next to the Suit, tucking an arm into his elbow. She’s tiny and has the kind of wide eyes that can probably peer into a person’s soul. "What have you done now?"

"Nothing," he hisses, glaring at her. "Get back in the car, we’re going to miss our reservation."

"Not until you make this right," she murmurs, arching her eyebrows pointedly toward Skye.

Christian sighs like he’s under great distress and shakes his head in frustration. “ _Here_ ,” He looks peeved as he hands over a business card. 

 

**M. Christian Ward; CEO Ward Industries**

 

Skye frowns. “What’s the ‘M’ for?”

"If I told you, I’d have to kill  —"

"— Maynard."

Christian (Maynard?) grits his teeth, stiffening in frustration. He glares at the other woman, but she smiles serenely and extends a hand to Skye.

There is a rather large diamond on her ring finger. “I’m Raina, his fiancee. He’s not going to kill me.”

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Christian grumbles under his breath.

"Think long and hard about it, dear," Raina smirks, throwing Skye a wink. "It didn’t work out so well for his two ex-wives but you know what they say… Third time’s the charm."

There is something deadly in the undercurrent between the couple to the point where Skye almost wants to excuse herself and slip away in the sea of people crowding past them.

With a half smile, Christian drags his attention away from his fiancee and focuses on Skye. “You’re probably late to that interview. Call me if you still need a job at the end of the day.”

Raina bites her lip and looks down to hide the bizarrely pleased expression her face before she is composed enough to nod in Skye’s general direction. “Or don’t. You’re an independent woman. You can do whatever you want.”

A muscle ticks steadily in Christian’s jaw. If Raina notices, she doesn’t let on — just continues to stare at Skye with that weirdly supportive smile and occasional barbed look for her fiancé.

So this is pretty weird.

Skye can’t take it anymore. “Yeah, okay, so this is more about the two of you,” she gestures widely, “than it is about me. Peace out.”

(She never calls.)

 

_2_.

 

Someone is crying in the restroom stall behind her.

Skye goes still, trying to ascertain whether or not her acknowledgement would be welcome. There is a gradual petering out of tears and then she’s joined at the sinks by a delicate-framed woman with red rimmed eyes. She looks like a strong wind could knock her over.

Skye weighs her internal battle of wanting to help and also protecting the other woman’s right for privacy and settles on offering a tissues with her eyes respectfully averted.

"Thanks."

"I’m Skye," she glances a look at the younger woman and sighs. (She really needs to stop picking up strays like this.) "Everything okay?"

"Everything’s fine," and then she bursts into tears.

"If this is your idea of fine," Skye mutters, carefully putting her arms around the woman and seating her on the little couch gently, "I’d _hate_ to see what _bad_ looks like.”

She laughs. “Sorry to be a mess. I swear I’m mostly normal. I’m Rose,” she takes a breath and attempts to compose herself.

"Well, Rose… Seems like you’re having a _hell_ of a day.”

"You have no idea," Rose pushes the hair away from her face and twists it up in a bun away from her face. The movement throws her cheekbones into sharp relief, inadvertently showcasing classically beautiful features that anyone with a wifi connection would recognize.

"Rose Ward," Skye says, slowly putting the pieces together. "Principal ballerina for the New York Ballet Company."

"Surprise." Rose gives a watery laugh.

Skye is suddenly remembering what the media has long been blasting about Rose’s private life — filthy, cheating ex-boyfriend, horrible set of parents, supportive older brothers who were out of the picture more than they were in — and makes a snap decision. “Grab your bag,” Skye announces.

Rose is staring at her with wide eyes, looking faintly alarmed.

Skye favors her with a thoroughly scrutinizing look. “When was the last time you got _really_ drunk?”

"Uh," her mouth opens and closes several times as Rose appears to be struggling for a diplomatic response. "It’s not something the company prefers us to do…"

"Screw the company." Skye pulls Rose to her feet, linking arms with her. "My friend Trip owns a bar not that far from here. He’ll take care of us and we can crash in the apartment upstairs."

"Won’t the person living in the apartment mind us staying there?"

"Nah," Skye pushes open the doors with gusto, flashing a blinding grin. "Since it happens to be mine."

"Well," Rose squints into the harsh sunlight and nods with a slowly building determination. "That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in months." 

 

 

 _3_.

 

There’s a knock on the door and she curses under her breath. Whoever it was had the _worst_ timing — she’s covered in flour and wondering if homemade pasta was really the best idea for Grant’s welcome home dinner.

She opens the door and finds a bizarrely familiar looking man on the other side. He removes his sunglasses and she finally reconciles the set of the broad shoulders belonging to Thomas, Grant’s younger brother. She had only met him briefly when she and Grant had gotten married three years ago. (The entire day had been a blur; his family had flown in from all over the country, wearing various expressions of disgust (his parents), humor (two brothers) and joy (and younger sister) and hadn’t left the strongest of impressions upon her.)

Thomas is standing utterly still. She has never before seen him so expressionless — something is terribly wrong.

"Skye," He swallows heavily and gently moves past her to enter the house. There is a battered case in his hands that she recognizes as the one Grant had taken when he’d left.

There is only one reason why Thomas would have it now.

"No." Skye clutches the doorknob so tightly her fingers go white from strain.

"Skye, listen to me," Thomas begins softly, setting the case of Grant’s personal effects on the couch. "He was a hero. Saved his entire squad and then —"

"No, no, _NO NO **NO**_!” She’s got her hands up and she’s swinging wildly and he doesn’t even try to stop her, he just lets her keep hitting him until the tears blur her vision and she can’t see and she finally runs out of energy and her legs give out. He wraps her in his arms and holds her with bruising strength but she doesn’t even notice.

Her entire life has just fallen apart.

 

 

 _4_.

 

Middle seats on airplanes suck.

Middle seats on airplanes suck, but the especially suck when the glaringly obvious upper class married couple next to her won’t stop fighting for _anything_. (Not for the safety demonstration, not for taxiing down the runway, not for take off and probably won’t for turbulence, either.)

"This is why we don’t fly commercial, Elizabeth," the surprisingly handsome older man glares at his wife across Skye.

"Would it _kill_ you, Jack,” Elizabeth sharply bites out, “To _try_ to set a good example for the boys? Just _once_?”

"Grant and Thomas know what they’re about," Jack says calmly. "And it’s too late for Christian, let’s be honest."

Elizabeth heaves a sigh and turns her face to the window, thus openly signaling her displeasure at the turn of the conversation.

Skye whistles under her breath and raises her eyebrows. She would _not_ want to be on this woman’s bad side.

Jack (father of two possibly decent sons — and one for which there is no hope, apparently) turns to Skye to appeal. “It’s not that I hate commercial,” he attempts to explain, “it’s more like we have a lot of… _restrictions_ on our travel and it’s easier to fly private than it is to deal with security and random seat mates.” He closes his eyes in frustration. “That didn’t come out right.”

Despite herself, Skye finds him kind of charming (in a non-weird, older man sort of way). “I get it,” she says, somehow delighted with his sudden lack of charisma. “But I’m not the one you should be convincing right now.”

"You’re right." He nods solemnly, seeming to come to a decision. Jack takes a deep breath as if steeling himself for a particularly arduous task. "Would you switch seats with me so that I can be with my wife?"

Beside her, Elizabeth startles and very deliberately keeps her eyes fixed on the view outside.

"You’re lucky I’m a sucker for men with dark eyes and a romantic streak," Skye unbuckles her lap belt and shuffles into the aisle so that Jack can get situated in the middle.

It isn’t until they are cruising at 36,000 feet and Jack and Elizabeth have been quietly holding hands for several minutes that Skye realizes they are addressing her.

She pulls away her headphones. “What?”

"You said you prefer men with dark eyes and a romantic streak?"

There is an appraising look in Elizabeth’s eyes that makes Skye instantly wary. “Doesn’t everyone?” She hedges, nodding at the other woman as if to say, _look where that got you._

Elizabeth smiles warmly. “How fortunate that we’re seated together, then.”

"This is a bad idea," Jack mumbles under his breath, earning an elbow to the ribs.

"Has Jack showed you any pictures of our sons?" Elizabeth winks, taking the severity out of the moment, as if to acknowledge how ridiculously forward she’s being.

Skye laughs and leans forward, taking the ribbing good-naturedly. “As a matter of fact,” her eyes land on the young man in the middle of the photo, with whiskey brown eyes and a secret smile playing at his lips. Every rational thought flies out of her head. She struggles to regain the thread of the conversation. “…He didn’t.”  

(Oh, this is going to be trouble.)

"That’s our Grant," Elizabeth murmurs approvingly. "Loves dogs —"

"— Walks on the beach," Jack chimes in sarcastically, dramatically fluttering his eyes at his wife.

Elizabeth has the grace to laugh and briefly rests her head against Jack’s shoulder. “I guess we’re going about this rather awkwardly.”

Skye thinks about how real their fight had been when she first met them and wagers that most people don’t often see this side of these two. Seems like a family worth getting to know. “It’s fine,” she says, offering a smile. “Seems only fair to tell you my name is Skye — and you already know my biggest weaknesses.”

"This is going to be fun," Elizabeth grins widely.

Jack sighs under his breath and slips his arm around his wife. “It’s definitely going to be something.” 

 

 

5.

 

She’s late.

Her alarm never went off this morning and she’s been running since her feet hit the ground and it just feels like she’ll never catch up. Like she’s always going to be three steps behind. (There’s a metaphor in that but she isn’t going to touch it with a ten foot pole.)

And honestly, she probably would have been fine — running in heels gets easier after your alarm craps out more often than not — if it hadn’t been for the solid _wall_ of man that she runs directly into as she rounds the corner.

The impact is enough to make her teeth grit and she would have probably fallen to the ground if not for said _wall_ 's exceptionally quick reflexes.

There is an arm around her waist and another at her shoulders and she’s just sort of caught in that weird limbo where you’re expecting one thing to inevitably happen and are left reeling when it somehow doesn’t.

"Are you all right?"

She opens her eyes.

There is an alarmingly handsome man looking at her with concern. “I didn’t have enough time to get out of your way, I’m so sorry —”

Skye can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her mouth. “I just ran into you headfirst and you’re apologizing?”

"Well." He lifts an eyebrow and pretends to consider the situation. There is the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his face. "When you put it that way…"

She gradually relaxes as he sets her back on her feet. “Nice catch. By the way, I’m Skye: human tornado and wreaker of havoc.”

"Wonderful to meet you, She Who Wreaks Havoc." He smiles warmly and offers his hand. "I’m Grant: Catcher of Running Females Everywhere."

She laughs and it draws the attention of passing students but it feels too good to them any attention.

(Also, she’s already late to class. So what the hell —)

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

"Might as well." He glances at the abandoned cup from where it lays on the ground, having been heroically sacrificed to save her from face-planting onto the concrete. "Do me a favor, though?"

Skye tips her head in contemplation. “And that would be?”

This time he unleashes a wide and completely disarming grin. “Try not to fall for me again.”

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _0_.

The air is raw and bites at her face, nipping into her skin like small knives.

_baby girl ward.  
29 march ~ 30 march _

Skye sinks to her knees in front of the tiny headstone and doesn’t make a sound while the tears drip down her face.

She’s lost without her.

**Author's Note:**

> I WAS AFRAID I WAS LOSING MY TOUCH, TBH
> 
> \+ tumblr  
> \+ if you're curious as to what jack and elizabeth look like, [look here](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com/post/114715436755/who-would-you-cast-for-the-rest-of-grant-wards). these are in fact, the same parents in [college au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2568770/chapters/5714132)!


End file.
